


Myrcella

by gauthannja



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: On the covers and contents of books and the judgement thereof, Raised by lions, Spoilers for Book 4 - A Feast for Crows, pretty but not THAT pretty, under 1000 words is that a ficlet?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauthannja/pseuds/gauthannja
Summary: Or: On being the daughter of Cersei Lannister
Relationships: Myrcella Baratheon/Trystane Martell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Myrcella

Myrcella was never truly convinced that she was beautiful. 

Her mother was beautiful. She was a bright fire of pride and charm that other women paled beside, becoming ghosts in the backdrop. No lesser mortal could hope to challenge her, not even another lion. Not even her daughter.

The Baratheon princess had been called pretty her entire life and she accepted this as her lot— a respectable lot, to be sure. Fair, she was also called, and sometimes comely. But whenever some aspiring knight or lesser lord wielded the word ‘beauty’, she could only understand it as nothing more than flattery. 

_Except for Trys, not Trys._

The prince of Dorne might be lying, of course. He might be flattering her, as might naturally be expected in the courtship of a highborn lady of a powerful house. But try as she might to remain skeptical and keep her good sense in hand, when he told her she was beautiful she believed him, tears laying siege to her well guarded eyes. Never breaching, of course. She might not be able to control the emotions within her, shining, gleaming, like the High Septon’s crystal crown, but she could at least master her face. She was a lady. 

What would her mother say? What would Trys say? He could hardly call her beautiful now.

She _had_ cried when her white knight rode into the ax. Every tear she had held back at King’s Landing, at her brother’s cruelties, at her sudden departure, at the homesickness that consumed her in her first arrival to Sunspeare. She hadn't known there could be so many ways to feel fear: a love kind of fear, for Ser Arys her sworn shield riding to his doom; a disoriented fear, of not knowing who was true and who was against her, or what was to become of her surrounded by those who might wish her harm, out there in the wilderness; and a selfish kind, a fear for her life, when she felt the blinding pain against her skin. Cold— in Dorne, that could only mean steel— before the fire of the cut, and then the warm stickiness of what she knew must be blood. 

She had screamed. Her mother never would have screamed. When Myrcella cried out she could hear all that fear inside it, and she could only think of what septons tried to explain, that the Seven where each aspects of a single god. She screamed wordlessly, but it was made up of many fearful prayers. The Father protect her. The Mother protect her. The Warrior protect her. Her father was dead, her mother a world away, and the body of her warrior was headless on the ground. The Crone, the Smith, and the Maiden. _Protect me, protect me, protect me!_

It was the Smith, she realized later. His hand had shoed her mare, guiding her feet away the moment the blade had slashed out at her. Of course it might have been the Crone. It mattered not — she was alive. The gods still cared for her, they spared her. For what? To seal the peace with Dorne? 

Her maids avoided looking at her. Even Septa Eglantine did not let her eyes linger on her face. But Myrcella couldn’t look away from her shade in the Myrish mirror. 

Her uncle had been an ugly man. Disfigured, just like she was. He was also the kindest person she knew, and had never failed to make her giggle. Myrcella was not certain she could make anyone laugh, but she could be kind. 

She could be kind without a face of perfect balanced symmetry. 

**Author's Note:**

> Some part of me imagines there might be more to this story but I re-read this piece after not looking at it for a few months and I think it stands alone okay ~~ I've probably never written anything short and sweet in my life so here you go!
> 
> (And yes, poor Myrcella is still like 8 years old but that's not too young to be flattered by suitors!)


End file.
